Shades of Vengeance
by Cyclone
Summary: Sometimes, evil is all too human. Effectively dead.
1. Prologue

Title: Shades of Vengeance (0?) 

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Not for kids. Harsh language, violence, death, and mention of torture.

Spoilers: Up to just before Faith, Hope, and Trick.

Disclaimer: Some of the characters depicted herein belong to that idiot Joss. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: Sometimes, evil is all too human.

Author's Note: Had to do this. Saw the Punisher movie, and this plot bunny started gnawing at my ankle like Monty Python's vorpal bunny.

* * *

It was a low-level coke warehouse, but that's not why I'm here.

He is. Everyone calls him Mickey. No one knows if it's his real name or not, and at the moment, I don't particularly care.

He has information I need.

The lights are out, his buddies are dead, and I've got him on the run. Right now, it's just him and me.

"Who are you?" he bellows, clutching a twelve-gauge pump-action protectively in front of him.

"You know who I am," I reply, the acoustics of the warehouse sending my voice echoing everywhere.

"It can't be," he cries. "You're DEAD!"

"Am I?" I ask. "Hmm, maybe I am. I certainly don't feel alive."

And that's the God's honest truth. I'm not even sure if I am alive. I've got a pulse, I breathe, I eat, drink, sleep, but... I remember concrete boots, handcuffs, and a dip in the bay. I remember passing out and waking up shivering, clutching a pier support.

One thing I do know. If I see a crow hanging around, I'm shooting it.

"Tell me, Mickey, have you ever fought a dead man before?"

He spins and fires... in the wrong direction. He's fighting blind, and the echoes mean I'm safe as long as he doesn't see me.

"No?" I say, as if taking the shotgun blast as an answer. "Well, I have. There's something you should know about fighting dead men," I say as I ghost up behind him, throwing my voice carefully.

Yeah, I know. Ventriloquism's not exactly the sort of skill you'd expect from someone like me, but everyone's got an oddball talent or two.

"What?" he demands, his voice rising an octave.

I lean over his shoulder and whisper in his ear.

"Guns don't work."

Mickey spins, bringing the shotgun around. I grab it by the barrel and flinch as he fires, the barrel burning my hand as the buckshot vanishes into the darkness.

I rip the gun from his hands and smash the stock into his face, breaking his nose and sending him flying back.

Did I mention I got superpowers since my swim in the bay?

"Hello, Mickey," I say coldly as I calmly walk up to him. He's crabbing away, but it isn't long before he backs up to a crate. "I have a few questions for you."

He shakes his head, "No! No, they'll kill me!"

I shove the still-hot muzzle of the shotgun into his chest, branding him, and smile. It's not a nice smile.

"You don't seem to understand. I'm going to kill you, Mickey, but not until after you tell me what I need to know." I pull the shotgun off and place it on his wrist, pinning it to the floor, "Before that... well, the only real question is how many pieces I have to blow off first."

I pull the trigger.

* * *

It's four hours later. I knew Damien owned the city, but I didn't think it was this bad.

Still, Mickey's dead, and I have what I need. The warehouse is in flames -- a final "fuck you" to Damien until I get back -- and I'm driving north.

Y'know, I had a name once. A family. My friends called me Frankie.

But that's over.

Francesca Calavera is dead. She died with her family.

And soon, Donald Chase will too.

* * *

Author's Postscript:

So, I'm guessing some of you at the XanderZone thought it was Xander. Were there any other guesses? If so, who? And when did the theories start looking wrong? Frankie's an original character here, and kind of the crux of things.

And yes, this IS a Xander 'fic. Or will be, anyway.


	2. Chapter 1

Title: Shades of Vengeance (1) 

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Not for kids. Harsh language, violence, death, and mention of torture.

Spoilers: Up to just before Faith, Hope, and Trick.

Disclaimer: Some of the characters depicted herein belong to that idiot Joss. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: Sometimes, evil is all too human.

Author's Note: Had to do this. Saw the Punisher movie, and this plot bunny started gnawing at my ankle like Monty Python's vorpal bunny.

* * *

_You know the old cliche "it began with a girl"?_

_In this case, it began with two. Three if you count her._

_It started a while back, but I didn't really enter the picture until she came to Sunnydale. She was looking for someone._

_She found them._

* * *

"Mother? Oh, God..." Cordelia swallowed hard and backed away from her mother's corpse. 

She'd been strangled.

"Well, well, well, daddy's little girl, huh?"

Cordy spun and found herself flying across the room from a vicious right hook. Shaking her head clear, she scrambled away from her attacker. The intruder was a teenager, probably no older than Cordy herself. She had shoulder-length dark hair and almost-black eyes that she would have sworn were demonic.

"What do you want?" Cordy demanded. "If it's money, I'm sure we can..."

"'Money'?" came the derisive snort. "Hmph. Spoiled little brat," she said in a sing-song voice. She leaned closer and whispered, "You don't even know how dear old daddy makes all that money, do you? Didn't you ever wonder? Death is a booming business. I think I'll show you how he killed me."

The intruder grabbed Cordy and hauled her to her feet. Cordy struggled, but to no avail. She was strong.

"Daddy's still upstairs, you know. Bedroom's got a nice view of the outside, did you know that? I think the bathroom sink will do nicely."

Smash!

The girl wiped the holy water from her eyes and snorted, "And just what was that supposed to accomplish?"

* * *

_I was supposed to meet Cordy at the Bronze. She was two hours late, and I was starting to worry. She told me never to go to her house -- and honestly, I'm usually not inclined to go there anyway -- but I was worried. She could've been kidnapped. Killed. Eaten, even._

_Weird things happened in Sunnydale._

_I got there just in time._

_

* * *

_

_I took my time with him. No one was going to trespass on Stately Chase Manor, after all. At least, that's what I'd thought._

_It's amazing how much blood there is in the human body._

_Of course, I saved the best for last. Maybe it's for the better. I got the effect I wanted, and the girl even got to live._

_

* * *

_

"You won't live long," Frankie said. She thought she should feel something. After all, she'd just tortured the man who killed her entire family -- killed her -- and left him bleeding to death. "But you'll live long enough to see your daughter die."

With that, she turned and snapped the rope she'd used to restrain Chase's daughter. She left the gag in and hauled the girl to the master bathroom, still in full view of her father. She'd already filled the sink beforehand -- planning ahead was always important -- and shoved her face into the water.

The girl struggled, but Frankie held her in place. It seemed fitting, after all, that Donald Chase should watch his daughter die the same way Frankie's entire family had.

After a moment, the struggles died, and after a few more moments to make sure the girl died with them, Frankie let the girl fall to the floor. She looked over at Chase.

Donald Chase's struggles had faded halfway into the cutting, but a new series of feeble attempts to free himself had started when Frankie started drowning his daughter. It wasn't enough, and now, the man just sat there, bleeding, defeated.

Broken.

Perfect.

She watched, savoring the moment as his eyes began to glaze over. Once final shudder wracked his body... and then, he stilled.

"CORDY!"

* * *

_The girl's boyfriend was a regular hero, the sort that would last maybe five minutes on the streets back home. Or so I'd thought._

_He's full of surprises, that one._

_I bailed. Donald Chase had suffered and died, and that's all that mattered to me._

_Well, not quite all._

_

* * *

_

_Cordy, as you might have guessed, was girl number one. I managed to get her breathing again and called 911. Aside from seeing the car as it drove off, I didn't know who did this, and Cordy was in no condition to tell me, so I called Giles and gave him the 411 to scramble in case it was a demon._

_And heck, even if it wasn't, it wasn't like Sunnydale PD's homicide department could find its own ass with a compass and flashlight._

_As for girl number two... well..._

_

* * *

_

_I had one more stop to make in Sunnydale. Chase didn't kill my family all by himself, after all. He had help._

_Lowlife scum for a high-class assassin._

_He wasn't worth the time I put into Chase, so when I saw him standing on the porch with what was probably his wife and daughter, I took the shot. Unloaded a full Uzi clip and kept on driving._

_I still had business back home._

_

* * *

_

_I didn't hear about it until I got to the hospital, riding the ambulance with Cordy. Willow and Giles met me there, and that's when I found out._

_Someone had given my house a drive-by. Mom and Dad were both killed... and Buffy was in critical condition._

_Thank God for Slayer healing. According to Giles, it was probably the only reason she'd even lasted long enough for the ambulance to get there._

_

* * *

_

Author's Postscript:

Okay, it's short, but this really fits best, I think.


	3. Chapter 2

Title: Shades of Vengeance (2?) 

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link. Plus, archived at Not for kids. Harsh language, violence, death, and mention of torture.

Spoilers: Up to just before Faith, Hope, and Trick.

Disclaimer: Some of the characters depicted herein belong to that idiot Joss. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: Sometimes, evil is all too human.

Author's Note: Had to do this. Saw the Punisher movie, and this plot bunny started gnawing at my ankle like Monty Python's vorpal bunny.

* * *

_  
_

_(X) _

_I'm sure you guessed by now what I was going to do. Anyone who knows me will tell you up front: You hurt Xander's girls, and Xander will hurt or kill you._

_I took my time preparing. She probably didn't stop driving until she was well out of town._

* * *

_  
_

_(F) _

_Before I left Sunnydale, I checked into a rundown motel -- the sort of place cops avoided like the plague -- to grab a few hours' shuteye. Next morning, before I headed out, I grabbed a copy of the morning edition._

_What kind of hell hole was this Sunnydale? Not even the papers back home would bury a pair of double homicides -- each with a side order of attempted homicide -- way back on page eight. The obits were just as insane, running numbers that rivaled the last turf war back home._

_That the Chase girl lived was a bit of a surprise, and learning that the blonde wasn't their daughter... well, I regreted it, but there wasn't anything I could do about it by then._

_Didn't matter. I had other things to do. Two of the killers were dead, but there were more who still lived... and more importantly, there was the man who hired them._

* * *

_(X)_

_I assembled the usual array of weapons -- crossbows, holy water, stakes, sword... battle axe, mustn't forget the battle axe -- but that was just icing on the cake. It was hardly the kind of firepower I needed for this._

_So I raided Dad's collection: A sawed-off Remington twelve-gauge, a Colt forty-five, and a little Browning twenty-two automatic with a silencer. That last one caught my attention._

_Now I just needed to find her. I actually didn't know it was a "her" I was looking for at the time; all I had was a car and a set of plates to go by. What is it with me and psycho females?_

_In any event... I had a pretty good idea where to start._

* * *

SMASH! 

Willy looked up and paled. "Harris?"

"Willy," Xander said coolly. "We need to talk."

"Hey, pal, you're not the Slayer," the weaselly little bartender snapped back. "You can't push me ar-..."

Click.

* * *

_(X)_

_Y'know, there's no view quite like the interior of a forty-five barrel to make you appreciate life. Willy certainly thought so._

_He told me what I needed to know. Her name was Francesca Calavera, and she was Family. I could hear the capital F there. So what was a mob princess doing in Sunnydale?_

_Getting revenge. I knew Dad occasionally went out of town for the occasional job... and now that I think about it, he always did seem to leave when Mr. Chase was on a "business trip." What I didn't know -- and what explained the silenced twenty-two -- was that they were freelance hitmen with ties to the underworld._

_Tsk, ya think ya know somebody..._

_Anyway, according to Willy, there were good odds Francesca was headed back home in order to settle accounts with the man who hired them. I didn't care about him, but it gave me a place to start looking._

_All that was left was saying my goodbyes._

* * *

"I have to do this, Cordy," Xander said. "I have to stop her." 

"I call bull," she snapped, apparently having recovered all of her fire in the past few days. "You're in this for revenge."

"So what if I am?" he whirled on her. "She's dangerous, Cor."

"I'm not gonna talk you out of this, am I?"

He shook his head.

"Well, be careful, you big oaf," she said, pulling him into a kiss. "And come back alive so I can kill for being so stupid."

He gave her a half-smile, "I'll call if I can."

"You do that."

* * *

_(X)_

_Willow, apparently, had figured out what I was planning to do. She waiting for me with a surprise._

_And boy, was I surprised._

* * *

"Take these," she said. "You'll need them." 

Xander stared at the items Willow had given him.

"Willow, where did you get an Uzi and a Desert Eagle? And enough ammunition to fight a small war?"

"Um... well..." she blushed and looked away from him toward her house.

"Never mind," he said, holding his hands up. "I don't wanna know."

* * *

_(X)_

_I had a sneaking suspicion her father was involved. Ira Rosenberg was a religious scholar and had gone on numerous pilgrimages to the holy land._

_A man like that had connections I didn't want to think about._

_Last stop was Giles. I would have talked to Joyce... Buffy's mom, but I couldn't let myself._

_If anyone could have talked me out of it, it was her, and I didn't want to risk that._

* * *

"Make her bleed, Xander," Giles -- or, rather, Ripper -- said icily. "Here." 

Xander accepted the sword with a nod. It was one of Buffy's favorites, and it would be appropriate if he could gut Calavera with it.

* * *

_(X)_

_After that, I was off. I didn't look back. I knew I wasn't going to survive this, and even if I did, the law would be after me like lawyers after an ambulance._

_Two crossbows -- one full size, one pistol type -- two swords, a battle axe, plenty of stakes, a Colt .45, a silenced Browning .22, a sawed-off Remington pump-action, a .44 Desert Eagle, and a 9mm Uzi. Plus a few other surprises packed into the Rosenberg Box._

_Quite an impressive arsenal. I was ready for a war._

_

* * *

_

_(F)_

_I was about to start a war, and I knew it._

_There were still a few people I cared about, people I wanted to get the hell out of Dodge before I set the city on fire._

_Take Shellie, for example. She's a nice girl -- woman, really; she's older than me by a fair bit, actually -- who works at a local "gentlemen's club" bussing tables. She doesn't dance, but she gets tipped very well nonetheless... unless she's sporting bruises. If I were to name one fault with her, it'd be her taste in men. She seems to fall for abusive drunks and mentally-unstable murderers._

_Then again, who am I to judge the murderers?_

* * *

"Hi, Shell." 

The waitress gasped and stepped back in shock, "Frankie? I thought you were dead!"

Frankie smiled faintly, "I'm not sure I'm not. Pack your bags, Shell. You've got to get out of town."

"What? Why?"

"Because," Frankie said softly, "ever since Roark bought it, there's been a truce in this city. Damien broke that truce, and I'm going to remind him why it's a bad idea to double cross a Calavera."

* * *

_(F)_

_It didn't take long. There weren't that many people in this town I cared about. My next stop was Old Town. The girls there had the firepower I'd need if it went all-out, and they wouldn't like Damien Jury any more than I did._

_My father kept the hookers there happy. A simple tribute system -- no pimps, no drug dealers -- and they got to enforce their own laws there, just like under the old agreements. Knowing Damien, he wouldn't be satisfied with that._

_He'd have started making in-roads, and a lot of girls were gonna be hurt._

_And pissed._

_

* * *

_

_(X)_

_I'd heard of the place Francesca was from. If Sunnydale was the mouth of hell, then this urban warzone was its armpit._

_Who knows how many demons and vampires lurked there? It reeked of enough human evil to mask it, as far as I was concerned. The sign was easy to read as I drove in._

_287  
BASIN CITY  
700 FT_

* * *

Author's Postscript: 

This... did not start as a crossover. It was supposed to be mainly original characters, twisting on the usual Punisher plotline. Until I saw this movie (from which I copied the sign's contents verbatim).


End file.
